Second-Hand Truths
by Tynni
Summary: There was little that would chill the northern nation to the bone. He could survive blizzards and broken ice, but the expression he saw made him shake. Those red eyes lost the drunken mirth and was replaced with a stout vehemence highlighted by his pale face. The normal smile faded to a disgusted sneer. Former Teutonic knight here Non-con/violence drunken stupor.
1. Chapter 1

_Fact.._

_The whiskey hits like a ton of bricks._

_Balance? Oh he left a while ago_

_Reason? She being a bitch and is sleeping with Coherence._

_Common sense? He decided to have a shots contest with Emotions._

_But enough about that….Did you hear about…._

* * *

The violent eyed man stumbled up the porch. Goddamn stairs could burn in the seventh circle for all he cared. At least, that would be his thoughts if he could articulately correctly in his mind. Anger grew heavy on his shoulders as he proceeded to try and properly find the finest words to berate the offending concrete.

_Shieße!_

Why did he even have it? Couldn't he be lazy like his southern brother and build a ramp or something? His mind flailed around the idea, making improvements on the house. A house that wasn't even his. A house that wasn't even in his own -cough- brother's -cough- country.

Instead, the silver haired Prussian stumbled up to the door. His body did a fine job of knocking as he rammed it, but he decided to use his fist any way. The awesome amount of force was a bit of overkill. The slight indent in the wooden access made him giggle chuckle, rolling slightly as he poised his shoulder on the door frame. Why? Well, why the fuck aren't you laughing? He just dented the door with his hand. His hand! Seriously? That deserves a two season reality show. He'd have to go to that American bastard tomorrow and tell him about it. After all, he managed to make a show about tanned idiots flaunting daddy's money…wait. There were a lot of shows with that plot…._Point proven_.

Still, the door was closed. Why wasn't it open? Wasn't it supposed to work in the order of: Knock, wait, door opens magically? Why did he have to wait this long? It had to of been twenty minutes. It was freezing. A hissing sound cut through the night as he reared his hand back to knock again, threatening the door with his glare. Balancing himself as to not fall into the door when his weight shifted, he gave it till the count of _drei_…_.__zwei_….. It opened. A smirk appeared on his face. Bow before the awesome.

In the doorway stood a wide eyed Canadian, half dressed in red and white flannel pants. His face had a slight twinge of concern, but mostly there was a dull irritation growing.

"Gil..bert? The hell are you doing, eh?"

"Z'e 'ell ist you doing, Matthew….eh?!" Another choked laugh at his comedic prowess. Gott, he needed a book deal.

The blonde nation's eye twitched a few times at the childish response. He was about to come back with a scathing insult but the scent of alcohol was heavy on the breeze. A sigh escaped his lips.

"Tabarnac. Get in here." His voice was soft as he stepped to the side, widening the mouth of the door to let the other man stagger his way in.

"Nicht bestellen mich! You get-" He started, making his way through the entrance.

"Why are you here at….four in the morning? And drunk?" Matthew cut him off as the door locked, not willing to play this game. Arms crossed over his bare chest. He figured he would simply get some drunk rambling then put his stupid lover to bed.

"Isht v'as awesome! Rich boy never knew! I just grabby snatch vital regions and pissed!" It was then that Gilbert found it fitting to release his nerve wracking laugh, causing the other nation to flinch a little.

"Right, okay." Canada had absolutely no idea what the ex-nation was talking about. Honestly, he had a feeling it would be best if he left it at that. Anything that had to do with Gil and vital regions never boded well for either party. Instead, he reached out and snatched the pale wrist, silently and gently pulling for the other to follow. He would put Gil in the first floor bedroom, not trusting his ability to get him up the stairs tonight. Being brothers with Alfred put some expectations on his strength, and he didn't disappoint most of the time, but he was tired and there was no way he was letting his bed reek of booze. Besides, it was closer and he felt lazy. Afterward, he could go join Kuma in his own bed and continue his plan to catch up on sleep.

"..z'en v'e started v'th Polar Bear. You'd like huh…?

"Yea…."

"..und he started.."

"Right…"

"_…actually, he told me you.."_

"Mhm.." Matt was pulled back slightly as his charge stopped suddenly. They had just nearly made it to the target area, standing just outside the kitchen area. So close. A scathing glare was sent to his charge as he tugged a bit more, but let his grip drop as he saw the look that took over the Prussian.

There was little that would chill the northern nation to the bone. He could survive blizzards and broken ice, but the expression he saw made him shake. Those red eyes lost the drunken mirth and was replaced with a stout vehemence highlighted by his pale face. The normal smile faded to a disgusted sneer. Former Teutonic knight here. It was terrifying in every sense of the word.

"Gil? Something w-"

The sentence was cut off as he was tossed side-ways, falling straight back into the aforementioned room. His back slammed against the tile in a way he knew would leave marks for a few days. Getting up was not something he would try. Pain shot down his spine and legs from just lying there. Well, maybe. His shoulders twitched a little, causing a pained gasp. Nope. Moving was not an option yet.

"What.. the.. fuck, Gil!" The sentence was breathy as he tried to reclaim the lost air. A few seconds ago he was stumbling, now judo practice?

The Prussian just glowered at the writhing figure. There was no remorse in his eyes as he stepped forward.

Matt was still pulling in sharp breaths accented by higher pitched noises his body decided to make when a boot appeared on either side of his head. Red and violet glared at each other for a moment before one pair narrowed as another widened. Despite the pain in his back, the Canadian nation arched when the pressure was put to his shoulder. Steel toed boots were excellent for kicking ass and taking names. It just sucked when the ass being kicked happened to be your own.

"Ow. Gilbert…Seriously! Stop!" His request fell on deaf ears. Actually, the ears of a currently sadistic bastard stuck in a drunken stupor.

"V'hy should I?" The pressure on his foot increased, along with the volume of the cries. "You did somez'ing bad Birdie." The grinding of teeth was audible to the blonde blow.

His cries became nothing more than whimpers, hoping that his lover...no, this madman would let him go if he just faded into the floor. He was good at that. Vanishing. Oh how he wished he could. For once in his life, just let himself go invisible.

"I-I ….I didn't….what?" The denial was hard to complete. There was a fluid feeling rising from his throat and he was not enthusiastic to learn what it was.

"Don't lie." The word was sugared and emphasized with a hasty kick to the ribs. The sound left no doubt. The force made it clear. This was more than some silly 'you'll be the captured militant' play. The man was serious and God help the North American.

Colors swarmed in from of the Canadian's eyes. He could almost taste the broken bones. Wait. No. That was blood. So, he _was_ tasting it. Perfect. His mind was reeling, attempting to figure out what happened to the giggling drunk that had happened onto his doorway just a short while ago. Was there something he did? Something said? Surely not. Gilbert only yammered on about the party. Matt hadn't been there. He had been in bed. Did he sleep walk or something?

Turning into the previously confined shoulder, the injured nation let his body go into a fit of coughing under the shadow of the other, trying to rid himself of the plasma that now coated his esophagus. He spit, adding to the small puddle now congregating and riveting through the tile seams. It hurt. A choking sound could be heard, a mix of gaging and hidden sobs. He hurt. Body. Spirit. Mind. _whywhywhy_. The word developed itself like a mantra.

Ex-nation dropped to one knee, a little wobbly from the inebriation. Grabbing a fistful of blonde locks, he jerked the Matt's head upward facing him. Fear mixed with confusion was the response he received. Teeth were bared, marked with red, but violets were now hiding tears. Somewhere, deep inside his centuries old heart, something stirred. The Prussian claimed the mouth that rightfully belonged to him, only to receive a sharp pain in return.

"Play nice Birdie." The words were spat as he wiped his mouth with a free hand before it moved back to his pray, eyes scanning, deciding where to start. "I hear you like to play."

A feral sound came from the pinned nation as he tried to move free. The look in the man's eyes now told of pain. Suffering. Torture. Thousands of years of 'cleansing'. Countless lives with the wave of a sword_. getawayrunhide__. _But, that just wasn't possible. A sinking feeling emerged and the second largest nation, _Oh, Canada_, Matthew Williams, retreated as far into his mind as possible.

* * *

Gilbert's eyes cracked open with the sound of the door slamming and rattling the walls. A low groan escaped his lips as he inspected his surroundings. A kitchen floor. Bright light shimmered in relentlessly through unclosed windows. There was a taste of iron in his mouth, most likely from some idiot who couldn't stand his awesome jokes. He also felt a bit filthy, but that was a prerequisite for a good party. Well, a night well done, at least he suspected from the few bits he remembered. It was rare for him to get wasted, so this feeling was a bit different than normal. However, last time he checked, France's kitchen wasn't this…_homely_.

The Prussian shrugged it off as a technicality. After all, with a hangover this massive, there was a chance his vision was being a douche and mentally tricking him. So, he did what any seasoned drunk would. He rolled on his stomach and tucked his head in his arms, enjoying to cool feeling of the floor and making do with what was there. In the distance, he could hear someone scream, well, if you called that a scream. It was hoarse. _Someone _must have had _fun_ last night. He almost chuckled at the thought until he realized it wasn't him. Screw it. When he was able, he was marching out to Canada and….fuck. Canada has snow. Snow and sunlight, with a hangover. Gott was testing him.

Wait

They said Alfred right….

There was someone else in this world with that disgusting name. That poor bastard.

He sighed inwardly, giving up on his plans for now as he tried to burrow into his spot on the floor. Of course, a size eleven boot to your kidney is not the best way to nuzzle.

"Arschloch , What the …." He shot up only to pause, a terrible feeling rising in his gut.

_Shieße..._

A cold barrel and colder blues stared down at him.

* * *

Debating if I should make this into another chapter(s) or not.

My Mattie T_T - I usually headcanon him being a BAMF...but he _did_ just wake up.

**Translations**:  
Shieße - Shit (but you knew that)  
Nicht bestellen mich - Don't order me  
Arschloch - Asshole, dick, prick...you get it

I don't own Hetalia...for good reasons.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred had taken the day for some good ol' R&R. What better way to do that than good food and splurging on the latest thing, especially those 'As Seen On TV'. His feet were comfortably propped on the diner table as he munched heavily on something with chili, grease, corn, and hotdogs. Welcome to the USA, where the food is made up and the calories don't matter!

His position was prompting angry glares from the waitresses who could soon have to bus said surface. Rather than politely remove the problem, he continued to sit like a badass who didn't adapt to society…or an idiot who couldn't read the atmosphere and lacked manners despite his upbringing. But this was America, so it had to be the first one.

There was a lightening of the mood when his feet were forced back to their respective place so he could reach into his pocket to retrieve his cell. _Disco Pogo_ blared loudly from the high tech Android, so he knew it was one of the 'Wurst Brothers'. A snigger was followed by a stunning yet short karaoke session.

"Disco Pogo…Dingalingading udder shops sins sing!"

"Yo! Alfred here!" His voice boomed as he answered.

"Ja. Hallo. Isht Germany." The voice on the other side seemed worn.

"What's up man?"

"V'ell. I am trying to find mein bruder. He ish 'ven missing since last nacht. Went to un party after ze meeting. I figured he might be at du bruder's house." There was a slight pause and an awkward cough on the other line. "I am nicht privy to his number z'ho."

….Oh! Okie dokie. I'll call him up and let you know dude!" The American took a moment to comprehend what was being said.

"Dank-" The call ended on the North American side.

The Capitalist nation knew his brother sometimes, often, hung out with the older of the Germans…. Prussian…whatever. He would even admit that there was _maybe_ something…else, but he didn't delve too deeply. He tried once. It took two months of cajoling, three months of therapy, and a new ice cream flavor made just for him…courtesy of Japan.

Giving into the creeping feeling that he needed to just let sleeping dogs lie, he quickly dialed up his brother to see if his 'friend was having a sleepover'. Rather than the usual 'What Alfie", he got dial tone. Not one, not twice, but five tries later. Sixth times a charm, right? Apparently.

"…..y-yes?" There was a breathiness to the voice.

"Hey Mattie! What's up?"

There was a slight silence, a sign for Alfred to carry on.

"So, Germa-dude wanted to know if Prussia was there. Seriously, you would think he was a colony. AHAHA!"

There was another gap, this one extended, giving an uncomfortable feel.

"Bro…"

"Ah…yeah. Gil…..Prussia is here."

Alfred began to feel a bit concerned. As bad as he was at reading others, his brother was a book to him. Even though reading was a waste of paper. That's why they invented kindles. Seriously. Shit. That wasn't what this was about. There was something wrong here.

"Matthew, is somet-" He didn't have to ask. The question was answered when he was cut off.

"Merde!" The term was choked in a sob.

"Hell. Matt?! I'm coming over now!"

True to his word, the Southern brother had already gotten up, dropping bills on the table, not really caring to check just how much he left. The_ feel_ of the money seemed about right. Well, at least _someone_ was getting a nice tip.

"Non! I'm okay, Al. J-just…" A sharp intake of breath was heard.

"Fuck that. Give me forty-five minutes…..max" He added the last part when he heard another muffled sound.

The call was ended quickly as the engine roared to life.

Ten minutes into the drive, Al remembered why he had called in the first place. With an angry growl, he made a quick call to let another worried brother know what he knew.

* * *

The blonde Canadian dropped the phone unceremoniously. He wanted nothing more than to curl up into himself, but that wasn't an option now. Despite his ability to heal, his wounds were getting better, but he was sure he still had at least to fractured ribs. If he bent over, well, he didn't want to feel a punctured lung again. Four times before, twice during the Second World War, had he experienced that. Give him another fifty years, then he'd be ready for the suffocating feeling again. Instead, he used his knees to lower himself to the ground, crawling over to lean against the bed as Kuma followed him around the utmost concern.

His mind began to swim with the movement, but he made it, a small hysterical laugh shook him as he thought of his condition. Not only was he losing his mind, coping with a destroyed body, but now his brother was coming over. It had taken him a while to manage enough strength to crawl from the bedroom door to the nightstand to get his phone. Then he just had to go and try and shift his weight while talking. Now Al was in 'Hero' mode.

_Please, Gilbert, leave before…_

His eyes fluttered closed as the thought ran through his head. Why? Why did he care? Behind closed eyes, images began to flow by. Surreal. Preposterous. He felt disconnected. Was that really him? Did that really happen? It couldn't…

_"Gilbert! Stop. PRUSSIA!" That was his voice. It was screaming, terrified._  
_  
"But you like being dominated, little Canada..." Who was that? It wasn't his Gil. No. It was wrong. That was his body, but not his touch, his laugh, his eyes. This was Prussia. The undissolvable nation that destroyed religions and countries._  
_  
Crushed. Cracked. His body was on fire. Red outlined all the nearby tiles, the off-white now stained pink. Throat singed as there wasn't a single cut on his body. Non. Brute force was the weapon of choice and this __person__, this animal, this creature…was determined to drain him with power alone._  
_  
It wasn't till the __**thing**__ collapsed from exhaustion that Matt had been able to pull away. If memory served correct, he had worried about dragging a drunkard up the stairs earlier that night. Now, he was forced to drag himself, bruised and broken, to his room. The trek had taken well over an hour, though his sense of time was destroyed. The climb itself had irritated a fracture on his pelvis, but it had started to heal once he managed to lock himself into his sanctuary._

The memories caused his cheeks to moisten as his body rocked slightly at the realization. There was no one else. It was real.

The sound of someone saying his name softly was disregarded. The crack of the door barely made him wince.

"My God…."

* * *

Alfred had stormed the house. Normally, he had little care for protocol, but there was something terribly wrong. Thus, the rule of a locked door didn't apply. It's in the Brotherly Code, rule 326. _'When your brother is in trouble, fuck doors._' Which he did, expertly. The front door wasn't a problem, he had a key. He had enough manners to close it as well [read: slammed like a sixteen year old grounded from prom]. However, when he took off towards the bedroom, he had to put 326 into motion. It was locked, which was a giveaway, but the nation wasn't answering his call. So, boot to the door.

America almost wished he could just close his eyes, click his heels three times, and be back in the normal Canada.

"My God…"

The words were all he could summon for the sight before him. Blood trailed from beneath his feet and he realized that instinct wasn't the only thing that had prompted him to check the bedroom. His adrenaline clouded mind had failed to truly analyze what the red trail up the stairs was. Maybe it was a new decorative craze? Now he felt his skin crawl.

Red 'bread crumbs' lead up to the body of his brother, eyes closed heavily, gasping as though simply breathing was the greatest task given to man. Skin was painted various shades of red, blue and green, a disquieting Picasso. Black spots were circled with yellow under both cheek bones. Matted hair was glued at various angles by a dark substance and Al didn't have the stomach to admit what it was. In fact, he felt sick just from this view, he almost wanted to run away before he found out the true extent.

Before he could activate his fight or flight, violets slowly gazed at him, unfocused at first, but slowly gaining recognition.

"Al….fred?"

A small pained smile appeared, which was more than enough for the nation to jump to his side. Alfred was afraid to touch the weakened man. There was no way to determine the full extent of the damage and he didn't thing he would survive hurting him further.

"Yea. What the hell Mattie?"

"I-I…." Matt inserted a laugh, which worried the other nation. "I don't know."

Brows furrowed as he watched his sibling wake to full awareness, moving to stop him when he saw the other try to move on his own.

"Al….Fine. Take me to the bathroom. I-I need to clean up."

Of course, this was the last thing on his mind. His eyes showed the concern clearly. That wasn't a exactly the kind of thing people would normally want when they were clothed in their own bodily fluids. He almost built up enough wit to refuse.

"I won't die. I'm a nation remember. I just feel..." Canada tried to bring back some of his vocal strength, trying to convince not only his brother of his words, but himself too.

Despite his worries, Alfred decided to comply with his wishes for now. Gingerly, he pulled the other blonde to his feet, worrying with every hiss and spasm. For now he would coddle him, then he would get the story later. Oh, then. Blue eyes burned something fierce as he considered the usual suspects. Russia? Cuba? Surely North Korea wouldn't be so stupid. Not that it mattered. Someone was about to get some sweet Western justice.

Slowly limping towards the washroom, Al realized something.

"Didn't you say Prussia was here? Why didn't he…Matt?"

The other nation had gone stiff and limp at the same time. His body hung off him, but it was as if his blood had suddenly gone cold and his body wouldn't move for the ice in his veins. Eyes grew unnaturally large as a shiver swept over him and his mouth began shaping unspoken words, wheezing slightly in the attempt. There was a scathing jeer on the darker blonde's face as he realized what was going on.

"That...bastard!"

Letting his brothers weight shift to the room walls and ensuring he wouldn't topple, he stepped away. The polar cub had been following his owner, now leaning in to help balance the injured. The two nation's eyes met for only a moment as the American visually apologized and the Canadian realized what he was planning on doing. Then he was gone.

"ALFRED!"


	3. Chapter 3

Germany found himself taking deep breaths before he attempted to make his way up those three little stairs. The house in front of him looked commonplace and, regrettably, familiar. The European nation was almost an honorary Canadian with as many trips as he was forced to make here to retrieve his supposedly older brother. He didn't exactly hate it. It was a nice country and all. However, the reasons for him having to reclaim East usually had embarrassing undertones. Drunk. Refusing to leave. Arrested. The usual. Plus, the quieter nation still made him a bit unsettled, even after all these years. The blonde often wondered how the young nation could be so fierce and disciplined when called to duty, but almost lackluster normally. Then there was the fact he was related to America. That southern brother was nothing but trouble. His continual interruptions and ridiculous ideas were endearing at first, but now America-

"ALFRED!"

-yes, Alfred. America. Wait. What? The outburst pulled Ludwig from his thoughts as the voice sounded strained, scared. Brash footsteps seemed to rush around the house. What in Gott's name was going on?

Stepping up to the door, he was about to knock when he noticed two things. One was the hefty depression that was just about his brother's height. Great. The other was that the frame of the door hand bent outward slightly as if the door had been slammed into by a bull. This caused the door to set odd, leaving the latch bolt unable to settle into the strike plate. Barely touching it with the tips of his fingers, he was able to push the wooden door open.

What he saw was not anything he ever could have anticipated. Murky spots tainted the wood floorboards near his feet, leading towards the staircase that went to the second floor. Any seasoned soldier would know what the liquid was. However, the aroma was the foremost giveaway here. It assaulted his senses unrelenting. He felt the need to clear his throat a little as his eyes frantically looked about. This is was the house, right? Had he walked into some sort of prank?

"Al! Stop it!" The screech hurt even his throat.

Azure eyes jerked upwards towards the voice. The sight made a sickening start in his stomach. It was the Canadian, nearly torn apart by who knew what. He could tell the country was struggling just to keep his feet under him as he used the banister as an aid. However, the other didn't seem to notice him at all. His violets were wide, frightened. No. That wasn't ordinary. It was pure terror mixed with something else. Confusion? Ire? Germany didn't have much time to contemplate the concoction as he followed the gaze, shutting the door to get a clearer view around it.

What was in front of him chilled his bones. His brother lay on the kitchen floor with a challenging glare towards the American who had one of his pistols armed and ready, pointed at the Prussian's forehead. Though he worried about his brother, not being an official nation made it difficult for them to know the full consequences of being too careless, but instead his eyes couldn't tear away from the pools of blood that dotted the floor where he lay. Fist gathered in anger as possibilities flushed his mind.

"Was isht dis?!" His voice wavered only a bit as he spoke. The words were in his everyday voice, yet he had brought forth the commanding tone that caused young privates to fall in line regardless. Violet and red both sung over to him, but blues keep a hard gaze downward.

In a fluid march used to dealing with volatile situations, West quickly made ground pass under him and grabbed the North American's wrist firmly, pulling the barrel to face the ceiling. A task that should have been easy enough, but it took all of Ludwig's strength as he found the other nation wasn't giving an inch without a fight.

"Let go, _Kraut_." Alfred's voice was calm, soft. An indication.

"Nein."

The two brothers glared at each other a moment before America lost the calm he had been trying so hard to keep. It was only a moment. A sharp intake of breath, released. That's how it began.

The American let the pistol fall from his hand as his free hand swung out before anyone could react. The metal object clattered to the floor almost at the same time as a heavy thud was heard from a body doing the following suit. The recipient groaned on the floor as he found Alfred wasn't pulling any of said punches today.

"Verflucht nochmal!" The silver haired ex-nation managed to pull himself up in the confusion, lunging at the standing blonde. Hangover be damned. In terms of normal strength, the American with his vast lands would overpower him. Instead, he let gravity and inertia do the work. Of course, his mind was thinking more in the terms of 'slam him and start rearranging his face'. Which, he did. It was a bit dirty, but this wasn't the time to be thinking about that. He didn't live this long without wading through some muck.

The two men fell with the lighter of them managing to straddle the other when they hit the ground. The blonde lost his breath as his back slammed against the floor. For some reason, the Prussian felt a twinge of déjà vu, but he shook it off as a past dream. He _had_ been wanting a round or two with the cocky bastard for a while.

"Un-awesome, American." His statement was accented by a sharp right to the jaw as Alfred struggled under Gilbert, trying to free his arms which had knees lodged in each elbow.

"Says the prick who tried to kill my brother." Even though his self-control had snapped, the American's words were uncharacteristic, unnervingly calm. The proclamation had the weight of assumed truth.

"Was? You…"

The thought alone made the Prussian sick. Rage bubbled…no. Bubbles are liquid. Flowing and smooth articles. His feelings rattled through his head. Rough and strangled. Some sort of beast threatening to escape and consume him. His teeth snapped together tightly before he could finish his sentence and he pulled his fist back to set the lying bastard straight.

"Ehemalige Königreich Preußen..…Tun Sie es nicht."

The knuckles froze at the ready. Red eyes shot wide as the words sunk in, biting and gnawing at him. His body trembled slightly as he let his limbs relax limply, letting the American wriggle loose.

* * *

Matthew saw it coming. He knew his brother. His body language said scores more than his mouth did. Before he could muster the words, it started.

The Canadian had flinched as the German was forced backwards. Only once had he been on the receiving end of such a punch from his southern brother, and it wasn't half as serious. His hands gripped tightly around the railing, not taking too much time to figure out his next move. In fact, he knew before the first connection of skin. Sucking a deep breath, he began towards that baneful staircase.

Getting up them had been a blur, and he was thankful for that. Now, climbing now in his healing state, he felt every inch of his skin. Having less injuries caused his mind to stay conscious through the whole ordeal. Nerves made sure to point out every bodily flaw that now existed on him. Yet he would grit his teeth and bare it. After having fragments of grenades tear through him, being crushed under the pressure of falling debris, and drowned thrice over, this should have been nothing, right? Maybe it was the mental pain, but making his way down those stairs he had climbed countless times, his body cried vulgar things.

He wasn't alone. The young cub kept by his side, steadying him with worry in his eyes.

"Who?" He asked.

Only this time, Canada knew he wasn't asking his name.

"I don't know, Kuma." The owner answered the same as he had his brother.

Nearly tripping down the last step, his knuckles went white as he held the handrail and fell to one knee on his living room floor. Agony danced along his spine and his head swam for a tick. He coughed as his breath lumped in his throat.

_Putain! Get it together Matt._

Mauve eyes snapped up. A shrill pain shot his mind as he saw his brother preparing to receive a strike to the face. Imagines of only hours ago attempted to cloud his vision, sending quivers down his spine.

And he spoke.

Those words were meant to burn. Meant to peel back any armor the other might have had. No matter the status Gil had or once had in his heart, that was his little brother beneath him, that he was threatening.

And there wasn't a single ounce of regret.

* * *

Gilberts temperament shattered as those lyrics ran him through. Matt knew what words like that could do, so why-

His train of thought derailed as he looked up and saw his liebe. Hunched over and sporting the colors of defeat across his body. Gasping for breath. Uncountable injuries that shouldn't have been there glared back at him. However, his body was held in place by the look he caught. There was fury, but beneath it, there was panic. It disappeared when the Canadian flicked his gaze to the two other combatants. Only on him did that dread creep back into his face, whitening his knuckles, and stuttering his breath further.

Why?

Nothing could wound him more than seeing his Birdie looking like that, looking at him.

"Bir-" His voice tried to call out but a sudden kick to the abdomen pitched him back as Alfred scrambled off the floor and to his brother.

* * *

He had been told to wait. It would only take a minute. It had been nearly ten minutes since Germany had opened the door. That was more than a minute, right? The brunette had every reason to go inside. After all, it wasn't fair that they got to have cakes and tea while he sat outside! The Italian convinced himself that everyone was having fun without him, so he sauntered up to the door, allowing himself in.

"Germany! You left me outside all by-a myself! That's not very nice! You-" He stopped.

Amber eyes flew wide.

A vast array of others fell on him.

His hands flew to cover his mouth as a scream threatened to come out.

"Pr-Pr-Prussia? W-Why are you covered i-i-n …." Italy could barely stutter out the mumbled words, unable to bring himself to finish. Glassy eyes surveyed the room briskly. Why was everyone injured? It had only been ten minutes.

Everyone seemed to droop a little as the adrenaline dissipated, leaving only harsh intakes to fill the silence.

"It's okay Italy. No one is hurt that bad. Why don't you go help Germany, eh?"

The focus shifted to Matthew, who put on a forced smile for the small nation.

"Ve! But Canada! You.." He reached towards to worst of the injured only to have his hand slapped back by America.

A hiss resonated through the room from two different mouths. One European and the largest nation in attendance both glared daggers at the man who was so blatantly rude to the help.

"He's only concerned, Alfred." Matt whispered in hurried tones, gripping his brother's shirt as tight as possible to prevent him from lunging back into the fray.

"Yea, whatever. Get these Fritz outta here, Pronto." With that, Al scooped his brother up, apologizing when he caused more than one painful outburst at the sudden movement, and gently started upstairs again.

* * *

Gilbert was shell-shocked for a moment, not even noticing when little Italy barged in. It wasn't until the nation sputtered out his name that he snapped back to reality.

_Covered in what?_

Rosy eye inspected himself, finding little on his dark shirt, but his skin was another story. Dark spots covered his exposed skin, flaking and dropping to the ground when he moved. A hand absently fell on his face and he found the same thing rang true. The American hadn't injured him enough to bleed and he didn't feel any open wounds. Where had this come from? Prussia's hand fell to the floor beside him as he noticed the floor looked about the same as his body.

_A joke?_

_A burglary?_

_I was just at France's…why?_

Germany could see his brother's confusion. He wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of this ordeal, but the look the Prussian was sporting reset his priorities.

"Bruder…." Pity laced his voice as he lifted himself from where he fell.

There was no answer from the silver haired man as he simply stared off in though in the direction Alfred had taken his Birdie.

"Bruder" He sighed. "Come on." He pulled his brother to his feet, forcing him to walk. "Italia, bitte." He nodded for the brunette to take care of the door.

* * *

Alfred placed his brother down on the bed, dashing to the bathroom to fetch a warm rag just as he hear the front door shut gently.

"You should have let me." The words hung heavy in the room as he cleaned the exposed skin. Very little of it was broken, so he could only suspect most of the injuries were internal. The thought sent a fresh wave of hatred through his bones.

"No Al. Sorry, but I can take care of my own problems, ya know."

"Obviously…" Saracsm dripped from his lips as he patted a particularly sore spot that caused Matthew to jerk away from his touch. "More like you were well taken care of... What happened?"

"I don't know" The Canadian's answer was breathy as he still refused to let his brother know the full extent of it all. A few days rest and some duct tape and he'd be good as new, no? Matthew kept telling himself that, but avoided thinking of what would happen once he came off bed rest. Gilbert had seemed generally concerned for his well-being. Even if it had been his fau-No. Gil had been drunk before, but he never forgot, never got violent. Who was that? It had his face, his scent.

_Who_

"Why did he-"

"He didn't!" The exclamation but a confused look on his brother's face.

_He couldn't._

* * *

There was no struggle from Gilbert as he was deposited into the back seat. Normally, he would fight for shotgun and hell hath no fury if he didn't get it. Now there was nothing. No awesome descriptions of the awesome party or his awesome exploits at the almost-awesome-as-he Canadian's expense.

"Bruder….Did you?"

A pause "…..Nein"

_Ich konnte nicht?_


	4. Chapter 4

Francis was almost sure this garment belonged to Antonio, but last time he checked, he had already collected a different pair of pants, three shirts and two pairs of underwear with the Spaniards name on the tag. How many layers had that man worn? Both pairs of pants were fairly tight. There was no way outside of Arthur's magic that he could have shimmied them both over that pert little ass of his. A glint died just as fast as it emerged as he considered the possibilities. That bad mouthed, un-cute southern Italian had probably borrowed the second pair to wear over. Still didn't explain why they were on his floor when he _knew_ the two of them left with fully clothed….and showered.

Wait

If memory served right…

Lovino was wearing stripes when he left. That garcon _hated _stripes. Couldn't blame him either. That boy was scrawny and even the illusion that was supposed to happen with horizontal stripes backfired. They always seemed to tighten around him, making his thin body more pronounced. Though he would just say it's because they were 'fucking useless and ugly'.

Yes, this is what he remembered and it caused him to toss the held item on the ground as roughly as the fabric allowed.

That was his Saint James shirt. The one that had been folded and placed in his room. In a drawer. Near his bed. Now, how long had the two gone missing for again?

"Ohonhon…. Mes chéris. I'm glad you had fun without me." He pouted ominously. Though he had been well enamored in the various drinking games, the host made sure to keep some sort of sanity as to be a good compere {read: Ensure he wasn't imagining the consent of a warm body, one in particular, which never happened.}.

He sneezed. Was someone talking about him? Not that it was unusual.

Sighing, the French man flopped much more gracefully than any man should be able to _flop_ onto a couch. Scanning the expanse of lost and found that he had been putting together, he noticed an odd movement from underneath a discarded dish rag.

Arching a brow, he pulled himself up to check it out, grabbing a candle stick, arming himself in case it were a burglar...or…a spider.

* * *

Matt shifted uncomfortably on his between his sheets. His little escapade down the stairs had shifted a few fractures from their healing state. Now his body was acting like a scorned nurse, doing its job and keeping him alive, but showing its displeasure at having to. The blonde wanted to laugh at the analogy as he remembered when papa Francis had done just that a few years ago.

The door swung open as his brother stomped into his room carrying a try full of items that looked vaguely like food. The smell hit him and the Canadian couldn't help but groan and wonder if he had a drop of grease or oil left in the kitchen. How did he manage to make homemade smell like fast food?

"Mattie! Dinner time!" The announcement was unneeded as said man already pulled his back against the headboard with little difficulty. His most threatening injuries had finally been stabilized with the help of his brother's frantic mumblings, pillow fluffing, and medicine cabinet adventures.

"Please no. Anything but that O' Student of Britain." A fake gasp of dread accented his words.

"Whatever dude! You know I am the cooking champ!"

"Of course…that's why you have to have so many instructional shows, eh?" The Canadian mumbled as he eyed the try as it was sat in front of him. The platter looked more like a breakfast spread. Scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes, and …were those pancakes? Oh god of all that was sweet and mapley…why? What had he done to deserve to witness such blasphemy? Flicking his eyes to his brother's broken grin, he sighed. There was no way he could get out of eating at least a little of this. Matt couldn't stand seeing him any lower than he was now. Poking at the eggs first, he popped a bite in his mouth, chewing slowly, glad Al had considered making softer foods.

"See! Better than that prissy crap that takes ten plates and doesn't fill you! This is a real man's meal!" His ego couldn't be cut with the sharpest knife.

"Al…you eat ten plates of anything normally." The Canadian retorted in defense.

The American's grin grew as he watched his brother banter and eat. It still wavered when it passed over a dark spot or a yellowing section, but the fact that he was able to easily complete sentences in one breath was better than nothing.

"Mattie, Wha-"

"Merde! Al, this isn't enough syrup!" He cut off his brother's questioning. His eyes glared in insult as he stabbed the pan-things with his fork. If looks could kill, Alfred might have had minor discomfort.

"One moment, master." Al threw up his hands in surrender as he took off to fulfil the wishes of his charge.

"Warm it a little!" He shouted after the American.

Mattie grinned as he watched his brother jump like a trained bear, absently rubbing a comforting hand over his twitching own that had decided to curl tightly against his thigh. It was nice to have time like this between the two of them. They had been a bit more distant in the recent years. Not that a few years was a long time for people like them, but it was still longer than he liked. _If only the circumstances were different…_He grimaced at the thought. No. One thing at a time. Right now, he was just recovering. That's all he needed to focus on. Anything else was just a hindrance to the process. Besides, he had nothing to go on as of yet and asking Gi- Prussia seemed like a fruitless endeavor.

Speak of the Devil and he shall come.

The nation jumped as the phone on his nightstand vibrated violently. Thus far, he hadn't had any contact with anyone today. All was right in the rest of the world. Who?

_Awesome: Are you okay, Birdie?_

_Awesome: I know you don't want to, but I need to talk to you!_

Matthew's hands shook as he looked over the message. Was he serious? From the carefully typed words and near perfect grammar, it almost seemed like he had an explanation for all this. It almost made the nation want to laugh. Justification? Reason? What could he possibly say?

Curiosity bubble forth as he wanted answers to this and so much more. Stilling his hands, he made his hands type carefully.

_You: ….._

_You: Two days. My house. I'll give you a time later._

* * *

Ludwig had pulled up to the house right after lunch. His eyes had often flicked back to his brother as he drove. The Prussian had simple sat in the back staring at his hands, inspecting them. Acting as though they were unfamiliar lands. Even as he shut off the car, the red eyes stayed trained on his fingers.

"Um. Italy, why don't you go unlock the door." Tossing the keys at the retreating brunette, Ludwig turned his attentions back to Gilbert.

"Bruder? "He paused, not the best with this comforting business. "Es wird in Ordnung sein."

"Nein… es wird nicht." The nation finally answered before removing himself from the car and taking great strides to make it to the door, aiming to lock himself away in his room. Blue eyes bore into his back as he went inside, worried.

Okay? How could it be okay? Did his bruder not see the state Matthew was in? Gott! There was so much…His thoughts had to be interrupted before he remembered every vivid detail. There would be no stopping him a second time. All he wanted was to go back, nurse his little Birdie back to health, to awesomely punish the wrong doers before the southern brother took all the glory. Mattie was his now and that was his job whether the American liked the idea or not.

Hanging his head in his hand as he sat on the edge of his bed, Gilbert thought of the only reason he held back when he normally would just invite himself over.

That look.

Gilbert had always admired how Birdie's eyes could be such a soft color, but still be super awesome like his own. Yet, when he saw them earlier, there wasn't a hint of placidity. Rage. This wasn't even hockey season anger. This had been something seen during a war. A look of fortitude and indignation that had the hidden linings of fear that most men never experienced without stepping before a firing squad.

And that look had been directed at him.

Why?

Gritting his teeth, he tightened his hands, creating two giant lumps. Skin stretched and pulled uncomfortably as healing bruises complained. That verdammt American had a hard skull. If felt like his right hand had a hairline fracture still.

Wait.

Gilbert was left-handed. He was positive he had hit the Schwein with his dominate hand and because of Mattie's…interjection, he had only managed one punch. Why did he feel like both his hands were numbed? The sensation was not unlike one he got after a prolonged fight. A flicker of some sort of recognition hit him.

_nononoNein!_

Calming his heart a little, the Gilbert did something rational. He called around.

_"Hvad?! You don't remember…"_

_"…You, like, totally stole my shot, kutas…"_

_"…la meg være alene…"_

_"….I wasn't there, aru…"_

_"…Tell that frog-fucker to come get his clothes, potato bastardo numero due!"_

France! After all, it was his party!

"Oui, mon ami! How can I forget! You were quiet som'sing. You started talking to Ivan with about mon fils. Not sure what you z'aid. You tried to mimic mon Matthieu. Mon Dieu, I hope z'ere are non other German's with a Québec accent. Affreux! …."

Gilbert let his friend ramble, not paying attention to the words, his eyes shocked open as something triggered his repressed mind.

_"Ja! Russland! Listen hier! Stay way from mein, Birdie!_

_"Ah. Пруссия…..I have not done the taking over of him yet" The larger nation smiled widely as he accented the last word._

_"There will nicht be yet, or has, or will…" He stumbled a bit, catching himself on the nearest person and righting himself. "Not ever."_

_An icy look flashed across his face before he responded to the words. "Matvey is the one to make decisions, da? We make the good friends before anyway. He lets me….umm…say, sleep with him when I hide- er...need company. Play many fun games."_

_Gilbert's jaw dropped in his drunken stupor. Did that Soviet bastard just admit to sleeping with his Matthew. His breath picked up before he stomped out of the house into the night._

A shudder took over the man as he was brought back to reality. Every moment of the previous night hit him without mercy. My. Gott. It _was _him. Everything became vividly clear. Bones shifted and snapped beneath pressure, some healing only to be re-injured in a different way. His own hands. A voice cried, pleaded with him to stop. Begged him to come back, wanting to know what was wrong and he only laughed. His own voice. Ravishing and taking what wasn't offered. Draining, bruising, scarring, killing.

"Ah! I almost forgot! I found petit Gilbird under a-"

"Francis…get over here."

* * *

The Canadian had looked at his phone in near disbelief that his hands had typed the words scrawled across the screen. It was binding. A contract. In two days, he would have to face his terrors. He was a big boy now, so he had to take care of his own problems, and he usually could, but the blonde almost considered keeping his brother around for moral support.

He was about to toss the phone back onto the dresser when he noticed other texts that he had overlooked in his anxiety. There were only four messages, but they caused his skin to crawl.

_Awesome: Birdie! Wat Russia do u?!_

_Awesome: Verdammt birdie1 answer me_

_Awesome: U sleep with him?_

_You: …sure, whatever._

They were all time stamped between two and three in the morning. The Canadian's breath hitched. He didn't remember sending them. Most likely a conditioned response that he sent to get the other to stop bothering him so late at night. Letting the breath out, a picture began to fill out. Pieces still went uncolored, but a general idea had formed. It didn't make it alright but it gave him a platform to stand on.

Hiding the phone under his pillow when he heard the loud foot-steps marching down the hall, Matthew went back to picking at his food absently, hiding his discomfort with the skill of one whose lived as long as he.

"The Hero returns with syrup!" Alfred announced as if he had just saved the fate of the free world by heating maple in a microwave.

"Well, surprises happen every day."

"Yup…hey wait…What does that mean?" The American glowered at the northern nation trying to find the meaning behind those words only to be met with an innocent smile and an outreached hand.

With a huff, he passed the sauce over and watched as his creation disappeared beneath the dark stuff. He would never understand how he could eat that.

"Want some pancakes with that?"

"That would be great. Unfortunately, there aren't any here." Matt gave up trying to hide his disgust at the monstrosities his brother had made.

Alfred threw out his lower lip, pouting before stealing a bite from the plate and shuddering as he tried to swallow the thick mess.

* * *

Fransis was unable to immediately make it to his friend's place, but he did hurry. It was just around dinner when he pulled into the drive, noting the other cars that were scattered around. Ludwig and Feli were both home as well. The idea excited him a bit as he figured it had been a while since he was allowed to tease the small nation. Placing the small yellow chick he was returning on his shoulder, he grinned as ideas tossed around his head.

Walking up and knocking with a flourish only a man of his breed could muster, his mirth was soon drowned as he noticed the expression of the younger German.

Normally somber and stern, Germany now looked a bit disheveled with worry lining every feature on his face. A questioning look was in his eyes as he stared down the long haired blonde before he simply stepped back and opened the door for the man.

"He's in his room." Ludwig stated curtly before shutting the door and walking back to wherever he had come from, a shepherd coming to join him cheerfully.

Though it wasn't in his nature for small talk, something was bothering Western Germany. What it was could be anyone's guess, so the Frenchman marked it as none of his business and took to the room he knew so well. Knocking only once before simply opening the door.

Inside was a place he didn't recognize. Things were strewn everywhere. Gilbert wasn't as neat as his brother, but this was abnormal. It was dark, thus the hall was the only source of vision. Turning on the lights, the full extent reviled itself. Valuables were broken and littering the carpet. Things were ripped apart, many requiring great force to accomplish. The only unbroken fragile item seemed to be the windows. In the midst of all this, Francis noticed a lump draped over the bed. An arm was pressed over his eyes to protect them from the sudden brightness. Chest heaving from exertion.

"Mon Dieu….Gilbert." The Frenchman asked.

There was no answer from his friend as he picked his way over.

A light hand was placed on the ragged man's shoulder while a little bird fluttered protectivly above the headboard. "What is z'is, mon ami?"

This time the only answer was a shabby breath. The blondes eyes squinted as he waited, letting the silence do the job of pressing for more details.

"Francis…I…" Without moving an inch, the ex-nation proceeded to recount the previous night, leaving nothing to the imagination. He needed to get it out. It needed to be said so he could fully understand the gravity of his own situation by putting those words aloud. He choked and sputtered, but he continued, never moving his arm from his eyes. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't look in his best friend's face. Prussia had already broken every mirror in sight to prevent himself from seeing his own expression. It was bad enough he could almost imagine the one France was sporting now. So he continued, flinching at the memories as his audience listened quietly.

When he finished, there was a slight moment where even the earth stood still.

...No one of Prussian descent would ever call the French cowards again.

* * *

Apologies to any French speaking Germans...I just don't think Prussia speaks it well xD

Still don't own Hetalia or any characters included.

Mes chéris (FR)| My dears  
Garcon (FR)| Boy  
Affreux(FR)| Horrible

Es wird in Ordnung sein (GER)| It will be okay

Nein… es wird nicht (GER)| No...It will not

Schwein (GER)| Pig  
Hvad? (DAN)| What?  
Kutas (POL)| Dick  
La meg være alene (NOR)| Leave me alone  
Пруссия (RUS)| Prussia


	5. Chapter 5

_You: Be here at Noon. No sooner, no later._

Matthew quickly turned off his phone as soon as he was sure the message had sent correctly. He wasn't going to wait for a response. If Prussia wanted to see him then that was the only chance he had. He would have to decide if it was important enough to do so with such short notice. A glance at the clock would tell him that it was actually _really_ short notice. It was already nine in the morning.

Tossing his phone into the cabinet that held his medicines and making sure it would stay out of his brother's clutches, the Canadian stretched and went back to creating a perfect breakfast for him and his brother. A few sore muscles complained at the quick movement, but other than that, his body felt absolutely wonderful. Two days of bed rest was just what the doctor, and America, ordered. Sure, he wasn't one-hundred percent yet, but after being as close to 'death' as he'd been in a while, the vitality of self-mobility was Christmas on his birthday.

Flipping the flat cakes with a little wriggle as an unidentified tune hummed in his head, he noticed the stampede occurring on the second floor.

"Alfred F. Jones! If you break anything in my house I will make it where you'll never be able to produce a fifty-first state, stupid hoser!" Matthew shouted aggressively over his shoulder as he heard feet trample down the stairs, probably two or three at a time from the resounding _thud_.

"Matthew Williams…What in Blue Blazes are you doing up!" Alfred came to a stop right in the entry of the kitchen, hands on his hips as he huffed at the other nation.

The one in question only lifted an eyebrow at the sight before him.

"Currently, I am about to use this spatula," he waved it to make sure Al understood, "and flip this pancake onto a plate." Just did he said he would, he did, with a dramatic flourish that he could only have learned from his papa. "Mon Dieu. I believe my body is going to give out any time now." He persistent his theatrical play by placing the hand that held the utensil to his forehead and closing his eyes.

"Mattie, not funny!"

Snapping his eyes open, he focused on those blues without flinching.

"Exactly. I wouldn't be up if I couldn't. I'm not a colony that can't manage my own well-being."

"Says the guy who nearly shattered his pelvis walking down-"

"That was a special case!" The northern nation snapped with a note of finality, returning to making breakfast.

Alfred mumbled under his breath, defeated, as he sat at the table, watching his brother's movements. He waited for the slightest motion of discomfort. Deep inside, he wanted it. To prove he was right. To whisk his brother back to the room where he could lock him away and never let him leave again. Yet, to his dismay, he never saw it. All the proof was there. His brother was better. Able. Strong.

Strong?

The American imagined his brother, clinging to him, attached forever and unable to keep himself afloat without his help. Since when did he start deluding himself that Canada needed to be protected? That a wrong touch would bring the well-established nation down? Biting his lip. Alfred F. Jones realized something. Mattie….Matthew was a big boy now. Damn.

* * *

_One hour, ten minutes._

Prussia stared at his phone incriminatingly as he watched the digital clock tick, seconds at a time. It was agonizing, waiting for those numbers to move. Why had Birdie chosen a time so far away? He hadn't been able to catch a wink of sleep that night, waiting with baited breath for a call, a text, a time.

Now he had an exact moment. The instant his awesome world would crumble. The silver haired man didn't hold any hopes. There were no excuses to be made. He wasn't here to beg and plead. Forgiveness? This was beyond that. This was simply an explanation, clarification for the why's. This was for Matthew.

Sure he could have text his reasons. Emailed them in excruciating detail. Broken down over the phone while expecting a dial tone. No. He was Prussia, not some bitch high school boy. Nations had shaken when the wind had blown from his borders. His awesome self could handle this.

A hand absently fell on his left eyes as he massaged the skin around it. The shiner he had been sporting yesterday had well past faded, but he still felt some discomfort, more mental that anything. The face of his best friend heavy behind his eyelids. Cringing, Gilbert remembered the stream of French that came from that mouth. Language of love my ass. Slurred and harsher than his own language, the words didn't have to make sense for the meaning to come across clearly. That was pure disgust and repugnance.

He flinched as the numbers changed.

_11:00_

One more hour.

His head fell against the steering wheel, breathing deeply, as he calmed his shaking nerves. One more hour of sitting in this car. One more hour of stalking around this familiar yet now stranger country. One more hour of being just within reach of the hurt he wanted so badly to soothe. One more hour of not knowing how.

* * *

"Hey Al" Matt stared at his brother as he placed his fork on his plate, standing to put his plate in the basin.

"Ya? Nee' Su'm'in?"

The Canadian recoiled tightly as America spoke without any regard for the food in his mouth.

"Seriously?" He glared before dropping some napkins closer to the southern nation before continuing. "You should go home now."

Alfred's lungs forgot to breathe for a moment. When they finally began to remember the function they were created for, there was panic as his body attempted to restore the lost oxygen, creating a suction. In shorter words, the great America began choking on pancakes.

"Wha…What…N-no! Not…going …hero!" He wheezed out.

An incredulous stare was directed at him. Though he got the gist of the 'well-constructed' sentence. This was going to be a fight.

"Did you break something this time?" Matthew asked, tapping his head for clarification.

"Shut up. I'm not leaving you…alone. No way, Jose. You need me, the Hero!" Alfred had managed to clear most of the obstruction and now spoke as mightily as he could, while fighting back a fit of coughing.

"But….Al-" It was a bit of a whine.

"Don't 'but Al' me!" Finally feeling he was regaining verbal control of the situation, the American sat back in his chair, posture sturdy to get his point across.

_Round one….start_

With a sigh, Matthew let his face fall. He would have to do this very carefully, muster up his best performance yet. Shifting his half-lidded eyes to the side, he chewed his lip harshly, rolling in between his teeth before flopping back down into his chair. He leaned and slunk to create a lower angle. Grazing violets nervously across blues, he gave himself a second before beginning.

"I'm sorry. I just thought…." He stopped, looking down at a title that grabbed his attention. Every vein and swirl enraptured about half of his attention. The rest was rapt on his peripherals, judging his brother's reactions.

"Huh? Thought what, Mattie?" The American's voice and position softened. Canada had to bite his lip harder to keep from grinning like a Cheshire. Putty in his hands.

"I-I thought you might have work…and you've been away from your house so long…" He paused clenching his eyes far too tight until he managed to feel a slight burn.

"Umm…It's okay. I promise. I'm the h-"

The Canadian opened his eyes wide, looking up at his brother with a bit of moisture causing a glassy effect.

"I thought you'd…understand." Eyes dropped again and he whispered the last word, placing the nail in the coffin.

"What?! Of course I do." He announced without a moment's hesitation.

Did he really? Matthew had the urge to roll his eyes. There was nothing to understand. It was just a strategically placed word. Just something to nudge and prick at that over inflated ego.

The American paused as if lost in thought, possibly about his previous statement. For a second, Matthew thought he had lost him.

"You can come back tonight. I just wanted some alone time…..please" He blurted, a last ditch effort, that obviously worked.

Alfred's smile brightened when he realized he wasn't being kicked out indefinitely.

"Oki-doki!"

Canada smiled his thanks to his brother, but one word kept playing over and over in his brain.

_Sucker_

_….._

_K.O. Winner. Matthew Williams._

* * *

_30 seconds_

Canada stood from the couch. His gaze went to the door and his feet immediately followed. His hand quickly flipped the lock and he stood back from the door with arms crossed. He was ready for this, having told Kumagiro to stay in his room until he called him down. Every bit of him was trained with fascinated attention on that door. Every fiber of his being wanting a sound, needing silence, and unable to foresee either scenarios.

_10 seconds_

The clock ticked, each second growing slower. Now there were eight, no seven. His face went blank as he listened for any sound. Nothing. Engine. Footsteps. Wood. Silence.

_12:00_

On the dot.

Not a second more

Not one less

…

The door creaked open.

* * *

Gilbert stared ahead of himself. Everything he had. The liberator in his dreams. The oppressor of his nightmares. The specter that had haunted every thought, waking and otherwise. He stood there. His breath refused to leave his lungs without serious effort. The mind that had long ago manipulated and organized military and country failed to compose a single intelligent greeting.

"Hey Birdie, the awesome I has-"

It was swift. It was precise. It should have been expected. The loud crunch of bone contacting was deafening.

Gilbert found himself admiring the craftsmanship of the ceiling before he realized what he was looking at. Blinking in surprise, it took a few more ticks on the clock before the pain set in and a hiss of pain flushed across his face. Bleary eyes tried to focus on his assailant.

Canada moved to shut and lock the door before returning to his guest, fanning his hand as a small bit of discomfort sprung up around his middle knuckle.

"Hey Prussia. Nice to see you again." His tone was jovial, a match for the smile that crossed his face. However, none of that met his violet eyes.

"Shit." Gilbert flexed his jaw, ensuring that nothing was broken. "I deserved that."

"…and more." Matt's voice had a sing-song note in it as he strode over towards the living room, leaving his visitor to make his own way.

"Ich weiß." The Prussian mumbled as he forced himself to stand, leaning against the wall as he knocked away the stars, before toddling after Canada with his tail tucked tightly.

His voice was solid as he stared across the coffee table. There were no concession or diversions. Only a bland exposition. The Prussian was unable to look into those eyes that bore into him, instead finding interest in those fingers. Those he often tangled with his own. Those that had soothed him when the hallucinations threatened. Those that knew every inch of his watery existence.

"And?" The noise alerted him and he realized his mouth had stopped moving.

"And…that's everything." He had finished his mechanical account.

"Oh, okay. I got the shit kicked out of me, forced, and left on the floor because you can't understand broken English." His smile held up for a moment before dropping to a face that Kiku would have been proud of.

"Look Bir-" There was a flash of something in those violets that caused Gilbert to rethink those words. "Matthew. I may have let myself get swept away….like Gilligan's Islandaway, but that message didn't help!" As soon as the words left, he regretted it. He wasn't here to blame the victim. Anything Matt wanted to throw at him, he was supposed to take and ask for more.

"I'm sorry you're trust of me was…_is _so low." Straight through the heart.

"Ich hatte Angst... Scheiße!" The Prussian dropped his head and began to pull at his silver hair, unable to correctly formulate his words, his feelings, was infuriating.

Matthew only stared in a cold silence for a moment before sighing. Despite the hard shell he now used, there was a special man before him. He had loved this man for countless days, weeks, years. This was never supposed to happen, but it did. Still, whether it be his own personality or the fact that he was a slow changing nation, his feelings couldn't completely change in the span of three day. There was betrayal. It would mar him for the rest of his days. There was anger, something that wouldn't dissipate for some time. It was conflicting, yet melded together to create something that he understood almost too well.

"I get it…" The words were fairly soft, but they rang through the other's ears like church bells.

"_Was_?"

"I get it Pr-Gilbert. I don't justify or forgive it, but, I..." The voice cut off as two arms flung around his neck. His body stiffened out of instinct, arms flew up defensively. For a moment, his breath quickened, nearly sending him into a panic attack before he managed to take deep inhalations.

"Es tut mir leid." The voice was a mere whisper in his ear, but the phrase began to repeat like an incantation.

Managing to pull the pale man off him, Matthew carefully explained the situation still wasn't fully resolved, but since he wasn't sure when Alfred's patience would fail, it would best if the East German left. The Canadian had had enough blood to clean up to last him a few hundred years.

Showing him the door, Canada was a bit annoyed when the Prussian stopped to give him that shit-eating-grin that he hadn't seen for a while.

"Ja. Matt. Sometime in the next few months, we should grab coffee after a meeting…or something."

Matthew snorted slightly at the audacity of the man before him. Did he really just….

"Sure…" he sighed out before shutting the door, hearing that annoying laugh and that trademark word.

* * *

Alfred had decided five was late enough. Picking up the remnants of his 'between-lunch-and-dinner' he quickly paid his tab and took off towards Canada, having decided nothing could beat the flavor of home-country cooked meal.

Of course, seeing that car pull out of his brother's drive put his hair on end, causing him to be out of the car before removing the keys from the ignition. Dashing up the stairs and ripping through the door, expecting the worst.

_Fuck! I shouldn't have left him alone! I knew it! I bastard is dead. FUCK!_

"MATTIE…..Ma-"

Alfred's eyes caught the surprised eyes of his brother who peered out from the kitchen with confusion, phone in hand with no noticeable disruptions. No bruises. No blood. He was breathing fine and standing on his own.

"Better not have broken my door again. You'll be fixing it."

"Thank God" The American transverse to him and pulled him into a suffocating hug.

"What is it with people today?" Matt gasp out as he wriggled to get out of the nation's death grip.

"Didhedoanything?Whathappened?I'llkillhim!Whywashehere?" The rapid-fire questions caught the Canadian off balance and Al's worry began to build with every passing second he wasn't answered.

"Ummm….No. Nothing. Shut up….and Iinvitedhim." He let the last bit fall out of his mouth sheepishly yet just as fast as Al's interrogations.

It was a childish attempt, one that was destined to fail. Still, that knowledge was not enough to prepare him for the expression of hurt his brother now wore. _From sea to shining sea_ now seemed dull, weary. His entire posture slumped as he pulled back from him like a hot iron.

"Not funny, Matthew."

"I-"

"Not Fucking Funny. Who do you think did this to you? Did you knock your head against something? Jesus Christ! Are you that desperate –"

"Don't you dare." Matthew's voice was a hiss as he sucked in a harsh gasp.

"Then what? Last time I checked, you were supposed to be smarter than me and even _I_ can see it was stupid."

"_America_…You talk to a man who you led a_ revolution_ against."

The southern country noticeably flinched at this, but he was dead set on proving his point.

"That's different, _Canada_."

Both of them stood stone faced, blank stares grinding trying to find a chink in the other's façade.

"Right….Well, please, don't let this idiot hold you back any longer." Canada motion towards the door, allowing that ever present smile to creep back on his face, but not into his soul. He was tired, tried, and tormented. His mind was still shaken from his previous meeting and this was not how he planned to spend his night.

America must have realized his mistake because his mind began to panic as he apprehended what he was doing, seeing his brother's face. The words he had said were from a mouth that had nothing but pure malice behind it, but Canada was different. Even if he denied it, the larger nation had to be confused, scared, hurt, so many different and conflicting emotions that fueled words that he didn't fully mean.

"Shit..Mat-"

He buttoned his lips as the look he received told him he was no longer welcome here.

Trudging towards the door, Alfred shot one last look towards the following nation before walking out, dragging the door behind him. It closed with a soft click that seemed louder than any of the screaming.

Matthew quickly followed to latch the lock before Alfred changed his mind. His forehead slumped against the door as he took a shuddering breath to steady himself emotionally. It was alright. He's be alright.

"Mattie.." the voice was muffled by the door.

He didn't answer, still keeping his head against the entryway to hear well.

"It'll get better…..Speed dial number one." With that, he could hear the retreating footsteps.

Better? Was it worse? He was okay. He felt fine. Everything had worked out alright. It wasn't perfect, but everything was-

His thoughts were interrupted by a choked sob.

_Him?_

The nation turned and allowed his body to slide down against the door as cries left his body unable to support itself as it shuddered into a delicate heap. He wasn't alright. There was no way he could be. Even the well-adjusted had their limits and he was well past his. Thus, he sniveled and wailed. There was no one here to judge how he wept or try to get him to 'man-up'. Nothing but raw emotion was allowed to prevail for an untold amount of time.

It wasn't until a soft touch pulled him from his stupor. Irritated and swollen, his eyes protested as he moved them towards the white mass that had curled up with concerned eyes on him.

"_Who?_"

Matthew was about to run his hand over his pet, telling him it was alright, when he noticed the forgotten cell that remained in his limp hand. _Speed dial number one, huh? _Alfred's number. The other nation had practically forced him to make it number one in his phone, fighting with Gilbert over the spot. Finally compromising on Al getting the spot if Gil got to be 'Awesome' so he would 'show up first on the list', even though he had others who managed to file above him.

A small hysterical giggle managed to break through the dying sniffles and he remembered the original reason he had the device. He had been checking for missed messages when Alfred had returned. There was one from his papa. It asked if he as okay.

The thought of lying crossed his mind telling him he was fine, but he reconsidered the idea.

He wasn't fine.

_No_

_…._

_But I will be._

* * *

This is the last chapter T_T  
Hope you guys enjoyed this impromptu ride.

I don't own Hetalia or any characters depicted.

This chapter took me 5 hours, the longest of any of these by 2 hours.  
I was in an excited mood when I started, so I tried to listen to extremely sad music  
...I think it worked...too well...

Ich weiß (GR)| I know  
Ich hatte Angst... Scheiße (GR)| I was scared...shit  
Es tut mir leid (GR)| I'm sorry (formal)

ANYWHO. Thanks for reading. I love you guys for sticking with it. I'm now off now to attempt another project that is wracking my brain...An Hetalia/Supernatural cross. Wish me luck!


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